Chanon of Bridlington. <br />When busie at my booke I was upon a certeine night, <br />This Vision here exprest appear'd unto my dimmed sight, <br />A Toade full rudde I saw did drinke the juce of grapes so fast, <br />Till over charged with the broth, his bowells all to brast; <br />And after that from poysoned bulke he cast his venome fell, <br />For greif and paine whereof his Members all began to swell, <br />With drops of poysoned sweate approaching thus his secret Den, <br />His cave with blasts of fumous ayre he all be-whyted then; <br />And from the which in space a golden humour did ensue, <br />Whose falling drops from high did staine the soile with ruddy hew: <br />And when this Corps the force of vitall breath began to lacke, <br />This dying Toade became forthwith like Coale for colour blacke: <br />Thus drowned in his proper veynes of poysoned flood, <br />For tearme of eightie dayes and fowre he rotting stood: <br />By tryall then this venome to expell I did desire, <br />For which I did committ his carkase to a gentle fire: <br />Which done, a wonder to the fight, but more to be rehear'st, <br />The Toade with Colours rare through every side was pear'st, <br />And VVhite appeared when all the sundry hewes were past, <br />Which after being tincted Rudde, for evermore did last. <br />Then of the venome handled thus a medicine I did make; <br />VVhich venome kills and saveth such as venome chance to take. <br />Glory be to him the graunter of such secret wayes, <br />Dominion, and Honour, both with Worship, and with Prayse.<br /><br />George Ripley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-vision-of-sr-george-ripley/
